The Self
by fleeting.ideas
Summary: When someone else sees them, they see greatness, beauty, or even plain confidence. When they look at themselves, they see a mess. Character examination. No pairings.
1. Unsurprising

Author's Note: This came to me in the shower, I think I can really relate. Which is sad, but now you know a secret of mine. And, as a warning, I promise that it isn't going to get graphic, like at all. Because I'm no good at that, and I don't think I really want to be : Wow… I just made that smilie without thinking. I use that smilie for everything… (Oh and look at how pro-Ginny a HHr shipper (in the realm of OTP) can be.)

Summary: It wasn't surprisingly, either, when she would dance around in her underwear in the girls' room, screaming along with some Weird Sisters song. She should be, and was, comfortable with herself. Poised was sexy. Self-confidence and self-esteem was hot._ She_. Was. Hot. Practically everyone felt so, they would all recognize it. They thought she did too.

Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine and nor is the quote, that, darlings, is a pearl of wisdom from someone who I'm going to tell you at the end. Because it may be a little shocking…

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"No matter what a woman looks like, if she's confident, she's sexy. It doesn't matter what size you are, what color, whatever, what color hair you have, eyes, like if you have confidence and you're a nice person and sweet and you're funny, I think that's sexy." – I'll tell you at the bottom.

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She was beautiful, elegant and glamorous. That was one thing, a little surprising at times considering her more dominant aspects. It was quite another thing was how she was _likable_. Humble, appreciative, sweet, caring, nurturing, what was not to like?

Popular among the girls, she was "real" but still girly. She could gossip with the best of them, and spend time talking about her hair products. After talking about those darned split ends, she often jetted off to Quidditch practice, as she was a notable Chaser (and Seeker when required). Which was a key component of why she was liked by the boys. She was in absolutely no way easy or even a flirt. But growing up with six brothers, six rowdy brothers, she had learned to get along. Basically, everyone liked her.

And they all knew she was pretty, so it was relatively unsurprising when she got together with the most eligible boy Hogwarts had seen since his father.

It wasn't surprisingly, either, when she would dance around in her underwear in the girls' room, screaming along with some Weird Sisters song. She should be, and was, comfortable with herself.

Poised was sexy. Self-confidence and self-esteem was hot._ She_. Was. Hot. Practically everyone felt so, they would all recognize it. Hell, even her _brother_s (while not attracted to her) knew she was hot, and they had damn well accepted it, begrudgingly.

Which _was_ surprising, and one of the few things about her that was, was that all that was a façade. There were few things that you wouldn't know about her (she spoke her mind and didn't bother with mind games or anything of the sort) but this, this was one of them. The biggest one, too, maybe.

_She wasn't confident about herself._

Or, rather, she was in public. But once she was alone, when it was just she and the harsh lights of her bathroom, everything changed.

She saw every blemish, ravishing her body. This one changed the coloring of her leg. This one popped up and waged war with her soap daily. This one stood out against her alabaster skin.

She saw every hair. Those grew on her stomach and were a pain in the ass to get rid of, every time it just came back with a vengeance and grew rapidly. These came up where woman were not meant to have hair, around her mouth. The ones around her eyes needed to be trimmed, hidden from view. Her awkward limp hair, neither curly nor straight, impossibly to work with.

She saw every once of weight. Those in excess on her thighs, when she wore a bathing suit the back of her thighs, _just barley in her sight_, would jiggle, a little. They had strange indentations, cellulite she had learned. She saw the lack of weight by her ribs, too. How they each poked through, giving her an impression that she was too skinny. Then there were her fore arms, overly hairy and too skinny for her biceps. Her height, too. She was too tall and gangly, even if it did clearly run in the family.

She wondered how and why the hell everyone else couldn't see them. How they could so easily look past the glaring imperfections and see beauty. She sure as hell couldn't.

That was probably why she didn't like baths. They gave her too much time alone with nothing but her body and thoughts. Her suspicions and thighs. Her stomach and worries. Her so called "beauty" and the inner self. Showers she could do what need to be done and get out in a half an hour.

And after that, her hair dried and she put on a slightly revealing shirt and curve hugging jeans and walked out, a little bit of natural looking makeup, nothing too major, and a pair of fashionable heels. She left behind the insecurity, feeding off the thoughts of others about her. They drowned her own thoughts, temporarily rendering them MIA. And she believed she was beautiful, if only for a little while.

But that didn't stop her from having those thoughts, every day.

She didn't know that millions of other girls went through the same thing daily, a majority of them not even strong enough to pretend to be secure. She didn't know there were names and treatments for it.

She didn't even really know that she was doing it. And maybe that's what was most surprising of all.

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Okay, that quote was Paris Hilton. Which, at least to me, is surprising. Even though I think she's much smarter then we make them out to be/how she pretends to be.

How was it? That was really quick, a couple hours at most. But I really enjoyed writing it. Wish there had been a stronger ending though… Please review and give me feedback, or at least tell me if you liked it? Love you, dears. Let me know :


	2. Literally

Author's Note: Okay, part two of character examinations. How screwed up they _really_ are. Enjoy and please review. This one's pretty darn obvious. Oh, and there won't be a ship in this. As hard as it'll be :

Summary: What most could never imagine is being the fore leader of a war, forming an army, nearly dying more times then you can count, losing all those dear to you, losing the ability to trust and love; _pain_. Unfortunately, this is only the _most_. There existed the poor child… Character examination. No pairing.

Disclaimer:  Not mine. How utterly surprising.

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"Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers you cannot be successful or happy."

– Norman Vincent Peale

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When one thinks of a teenager, they think of certain things. Things like experiences, revolting, parties, hormones, pain, and oppression. What one does not think of is drugs, sex, peer pressure, angst, pain, fights with friends, and consequences. What most could never imagine is being the fore leader of a war, forming an army, nearly dying more times then you can count, losing all those dear to you, losing the ability to trust and love; _pain_.

Unfortunately, this is only the _most_. There existed the poor child, because he was in all reality a child still, and the last description (the one people would never imagine) that was his daily life.

His pain was different. It existed on the highest plane. It was not simply pain over a skinned knee or broken appendage. It was not the pain of a lost friend, or a betrayed lover. He went through his life daily, quite alone, bearing the world on his shoulders.

The world is not a happy place, nor is it easy. And it was _on his shoulders_. He was the one remaining hope for the wizarding world, the one and alone. Why was he alone? Was it by choice? Perhaps. Was it with reason? Assuredly.

There had been few who had assisted him. One of the worst had been Mr. Sirius Black, the beloved godfather, who rushed into save **him**. Then, one of the most surprising, Albus Dumbledore, _the single great wizard of their time_, he too perished, weakened by assisting **him**. **He** had dragged Cedric into it if he hadn't acted like he had, the young boy would still be alive. And his parents, who died to preserve **his **own life. And the countless others; t_he literally countless_ _others_ who had died fighting. Fighting **his** war. The war he alone had to win. Because he alone could.

He killed Sirius. He killed Dumbledore. He killed Cedric. He killed his parents. He was going to kill anyone else who was close to him.

So he cut himself off from the rest. A part of him was very aware he was doing it; he actively started to wean his friends away. He pushed them away and they were resistant at first, but one by one they would comply. Besides, he more shoved then pushed. The other part of him did unintentionally, subconsciously.

So he was alone. Sort of. There was the rest of the world that was always there. A prime example would be the reporters who seemed to know about every thing in his life and then informing everyone else. Because everyone wanted, no, needed to know what their savior was up to.

That was the term they used, he was their _savior_.

Did the rest of the world actually believe he could do it? They seemed to have faith in him, a hell of a lot of faith. They trusted that he could kill the second (possibly first) strongest wizard of the time. He was unspeakable, quite literally, (He-who-must-not-be-named), and the child was going to defeat him when he quaked war heroes with fear?

Did they really trust the young "man", aged by war, who had seen things most adults don't, and abused orphan, did they really trust **him** to fight their war and win? They, apparently, did. He, however, did not.

He racked himself with constant feelings of inadequacy. He screwed everything up.

In school, for example. He was a miserable potions student, absolutely dismal. The teacher hated him and his grades were less then satisfactory, he had one good year in potions and that was because some book held his hand the entire time.

Then there was his personal love life. What love life? Exactly. For a seventeen year old, he had a pitiful amount of experience, with two girlfriends and a handful of kisses. One lasted for a part of a date, before he left and she cried. He forced her to tears. The other he pushed away, yet again. And she was stubborn; it was a hard thing to do. But he loved her and she was practically family.

Ah, family. Another dismal subject for the poor boy. His parents were, unfortunately, deceased. Godfather was gone, as was the mentor. The closest blood relation was his aunt and uncle and their son. They all hated him. He was a slave to them, and the only way he was treated with an ounce of respect was if he threatened them. That's what it took to get people to notice him.

Even the two that had always been with him, his closest friends, he had angered them too. He had a fight with his very best mate multiple times; the worst of which lasting for a large portion of his fourth year, his best friend had sided with the enemy over him. And he was horrible to his other best friend. He got irritated and insulting. He was amazed how she was still around; especially considering it was only out of duty. He had saved her life, by chance, and now she felt she had to stick around. Plus, she wasn't always particularly well liked because of her righteous and slight know-it-all behavior, so she took what she could.

But since the world needed him to be strong and brave and true and confident, he pretended to be. He would grab his wand, put on his cloak, and walk out the door with a smile on his face. He would keep his head high, even though he felt low.

He didn't know that he wasn't the only one who battled with these feelings. He didn't know that there were millions out there who battled with their own "inadequate" selves, or that he was dead wrong.

He didn't know that his doubt could be his down fall, literally.

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Phew, that was… Well, I'm not perfectly happy with it, but I never am. Oh and about the l-word I use for his feelings about Ginny, I mean love however you want to take it. Sisterly, or… other love if that's what keeps your ship afloat. Not –mine- but whatever.

Oh, and, just as a warning. I do not feel this way. I think Harry's awesome and Ginny's sweet and Hermione and Ron actually like Harry. Nor is it his fault, these are all his thoughts, not mine.


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